Unmasked
by Anera527
Summary: Alternate ending to Legend of Zorro. Joaquin learns what it means to be the son of Zorro- and of Alejandro de le Vega.


"_**Unmasked"**_

The crowd around the train car had started to disperse, still chanting and cheering, drunk on their joy of California's joining the United States. The festivities would continue for days and weeks on end and none would think it strange if a woman cried in her joy.

And tears were certainly falling down Elena de la Vega's beautiful face as she stood with her son. Standing wrapped in her arms, the ten-year-old Joaquin de la Vega looked up at her in open concern. "Mama, are you all right?"

Elena looked down at him, smiling through her tears, and laughed a little in self-consciousness. "Ah, Mi Amor," she said quietly, and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. "Do not worry about me—these are happy tears." Her hand lightly brushed the hat on his head, gently, softly, and she laughed again. "Give your papi his hat back," she whispered in his ear.

Reluctantly, Joaquin took it off and held it reverently in his hands, looking at its black material and Spanish weaving around its brim. Looking up, he easily spotted the black-garbed figure of the folk hero Zorro fluidly mounting up on his mount Tornado, and he felt his heart leap.

_Papi._

"Zorro!" he called out and his hero turned to him with a wide smile. Flinging his arm out, flicking his wrist as if throwing a Frisbee, he threw the hat over the heads of the departing crowd and watched as Zorro caught it with a nod of thanks. Tornado snorted as if showing his approval of Joaquin, and Zorro chuckled and urged the horse forward to the waiting mother and son.

"My thanks to you, niño," he said when he was beside them. "Your father would be very proud of you, I think."

Listening to Zorro's deep voice, the smooth bass rumble, Joaquin wondered how he could not have realized earlier that this man was really his father. It was a familiar voice, a loved voice, and he beamed at the compliment. Papi was _proud_ of him! Joaquin had made him proud!

His father's gaze turned to Elena, and although he did not say anything aloud, he winked at her and his smile turned sly. It was a side of Alejandro de la Vega that Joaquin had never seen before, and he marveled at the change.

"Papi is a whole different person when he's Zorro, isn't he, Mama?" he asked her when they were in the safety of their hacienda.

Letting down her long black hair, Elena's expression softened and she turned to him. "No, my son," she said quietly. "Your father_ is_ Zorro—everyone _else_ he is are the ones who are different." She crouched down in front of him. "I know he was not always there for you, Joaquin, but he tried to be. He loves you and would do anything for us." She sighed and something of the past entered her gaze. "But what you must realize is that Zorro is what made your papi who he is today—a fact I seem to have forgotten lately. It is very difficult for him to balance family and his true livelihood."

Joaquin frowned in confusion. Seeing the story of Zorro from the _in_side was a world's difference from seeing it from the _out_side. "Mama…"

The sounds of an approaching rider interrupted his thoughts and drew his mother's gaze to the open plaza, and a wide smile spread across her face. "Alejandro," she whispered, and hurried to the doors. As they stepped out into the deepening dusk they saw the familiar sight of Tornado come galloping up with Zorro standing straight and tall in the saddle. Snorting, the magnificent horse stopped and his rider slid lithely to the ground.

"Elena! Joaquin!" he called out, and reaching up flung his hat back and slipped his mask off, revealing the familiar face of Alejandro de la Vega. He laughed from sheer delight as he ran towards them, and Elena raced into his waiting arms as he spun her around. Watching them, Joaquin realized that everything was forgiven between the two of them and felt his heart leap even more. Finally his parents broke apart and Alejandro turned to meet Joaquin's eyes. For a long moment, father and son merely looked at each other; then Joaquin rushed forward and ran into Alejandro's embrace, who wrapped himself around his child like he would never let him go.

"Oh, my Joaquin," he murmured in the boy's ear. "My son, you were so brave—"

"Papi, Papi, I'm so sorry!" Joaquin cried, clutching his father's shirt in a tight, unbreakable hold. "I never thought—and seeing that diablo with his knife—"

But Alejandro gently shushed him, lifting his chin up, and Joaquin was suddenly looking up into his papi's warm brown eyes. His smile was understanding and shone with pride and love—so different from the Papi Joaquin remembered walking around in a distracted, insubstantial daze. "You should know," he said softly, "that not even Hell itself could keep me from you and your mother."

Elena's fingers snaked through her husband's hair and sharply tugged at one lock. "Language, Alejandro," she warned, but her tone was without heat. "You will have to go to confession to forgive your tongue."

Joaquin was confused by the suddenly sly look that passed over his father's face. "Just as long as I am not the padre, eh?" he asked her, and standing quickly kissed her on the lips. They drew back from one another and Alejandro looked down at his son. "Come with us, Joaquin. We have a lot to discuss."

0000000

In a matter of a couple of hours, it was all told. Joaquin sat wide-eyed and awed as he stared at his parents. Out of all the remarkable tales of Zorro he had ever heard, this was undoubtedly the best and most interesting. His papi, growing up a thief and a wanted outlaw before taking up the mantle of Zorro, and his mother raised as the daughter of Diego de la Vega's enemy. He couldn't believe it.

"So—you've been Zorro for ten years?" Ten years, even before his birth.

Elena smiled nervously where she sat beside Alejandro, holding his hand tightly in her own. "I told you, Mi Amor," she said quietly. "Zorro is what made your papi who he is today."

Alejandro looked over at her, the lit candles highlighting his dark hair. He had shed his gloves and cloak, but his dark clothes made him hard to distinguish from the shadows. "If not for Diego, I would probably be dead. More than likely, actually." He sighed, then turned back to Joaquin. "I tried to be as much as I could, Joaquin," he said softly. "But I can't simply let my duties as Zorro go. Not after all I've done."

"I don't care if you leave to help, Papi!" Joaquin exclaimed. "You're a hero! But I just—why didn't you tell me sooner? Why did you keep it a secret?" He stood an paced, remembering the icy shock that had descended upon him the night before, when McGivens had ripped off the mask of Zorro and revealed the face Joaquin had least expected. Even in memory, though, Joaquin was proud of the way his papi had stayed straight-backed and unbreakable even after his safety was stolen away.

He missed the swift, covert glance his parents shared. "I wanted to protect you," his father finally replied quietly. "And I thought it would be safer for you to be kept in the dark. But, uh…" and suddenly he grew nervous, unlike either Papi _or_ Zorro, as he looked at Elena and his expression was surprisingly sheepish. "Your mother was right. It wasn't my secret to keep. It belongs to all of us."

Elena smiled, and it was a mix of smugness and love. "Perhaps now you will listen to me when I say I am always right."

His father rolled his eyes playfully. "Only when_ I'm_ not."

Joaquin giggled despite himself, unable to help it. His parents were together again and his family was safe. All was well.

0000000

Even if _he_ knew that his family was safe, Joaquin's mind was still running on fear. For several days after the events at Armand's vineyard and the showdown at the train, his sleep was disturbed by nightmares. Elena spent several half-nights sitting with him, stroking his hair and soothing him softly, and still he did not speak aloud of what he had dreamed about, merely shivering in her arms. Every night it was only Elena, though; Alejandro was still often called on duty for Zorro, and it was his father's absence that un-admittedly frightened Joaquin the most. One night, finally, Joaquin was woken from a nightmare by a hand gently shaking him and he found his papi standing above him. He still wore the black clothes of Zorro, divested of his cloak and gloves, and his face was lined with worry.

"Joaquin, what's wrong?"

"Papi!" he couldn't help but gasp, and grabbed his father's wrist, dragging him close. He almost sobbed with relief as the terrors of his dreams dispersed. Alejandro gently lowered himself onto his son's bed and drew him into his lap. His actions were timid and unsure, but Joaquin at that moment loved him all the more for it. He buried his face in the fabric of his papi's shirt and breathed in the scent of horse and fresh air—a scent that had always before confused Joaquin, since he had always believed his father hated horses.

Papi's large, firm hand rubbed at his back and stroked his hair soothingly. "What is bothering you, niño? Your mother has said you've been restless lately."

But Joaquin shook his head. "Nightmares," he muttered, unwilling to say anything else aloud. "It's nothing, Papi, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be making such a big deal about it—"

"Nightmares about what happened on the train?" His father's voice was soft.

Silence. Then Joaquin nodded slowly. "And before." His eyes burned and he tried to blink them dry. "I—I just—I just keep seeing you and mama—" The particular nightmare of seeing his papi's throat cut by McGivens' knife came to the front of his mind and he shuddered into silence.

"You don't have to tell me anything more, niño. I know." His father's hand stilled for a long moment and for a long moment they simply sat together silently. "I've suffered from nightmares before as well."

Joaquin looked up at him, surprised. "You?"

His papi nodded. "I've seen a lot of things, Joaquin," he answered softly. "When you were born, I was already fearful of something happening to your mother. But when you entered into our lives, I only had to_ think_ about either of you getting hurt and I would freeze up."

Joaquin was silent for a long moment, processing this. "What was _your_ nightmare?"

Alejandro was very quiet for a long time, so long that Joaquin was afraid that he had asked the wrong thing. But soon Papi fell to stroking his hair again and met his gaze baldly. His eyes were burning.

"That the man I told you about, Captain Love—"

"The man who killed my uncle and that you swore vengeance on?"

Papi chuckled. "So you really _were_ listening."

Joaquin frowned, indignant. "The story had Zorro in it, didn't it?"

And this time Papi really did laugh, a deep, full-throated laugh that Joaquin rarely heard anymore. "Indeed." But then he quickly sobered again. "I would dream that he came back from the dead—or having not died at all—and do to me and my family the same that Raphael Montero did to your mama's." He sighed. "I'm afraid I kept your mother up several years following the night at the mine."

"So you were afraid for _us_—the whole time?"

"Always." Papi looked at him intently. "I truly am sorry I did not tell you, Joaquin. But nothing means more to me than you and your mother, and I thought I was keeping you safe in your ignorance. But it only made me a neglectful father in your eyes."

Joaquin could not deny that. "I know _now_, though. And I'm not upset—not anymore—when you have to leave. You're still protecting me and Mama, right?"

Papi's eyes shone. "Ah, Mi Amor," he murmured. "I always will."

When he prepared to stand, however, Joaquin grabbed his hand again. "Stay. Please?"

Papi looked down at him, considering; then he smiled again. Silently he sat back down—and not on a chair, as Joaquin had expected, but on the bed itself, where he stretched himself out. Joaquin slid under his arm and Papi drew him close. Feeling finally safe in the shelter of his parent's arms, Joaquin closed his eyes with a smile.

'I love you, Papi."

He felt instead of saw his papi's answering grin. "I loved you first."


End file.
